


tell me how to live

by Violet_Witch



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Touch-Starved, but you get the picture, don't think this qualifys as only one bed, they're soft okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violet_Witch/pseuds/Violet_Witch
Summary: Jason doesn’t know how to be soft. He’s not sure how to let someone hold his hand, or even kiss him in an intimate way. Making out? He can do that. Forehead kisses? He flinched so hard Royapologized. They could hardly make eye contact for the rest of the day.Jason doesn’t want it to be a thing, but it’s going to be a thing.~~~Or the one where Jason realizes being in a relationship means he doesn't have to be alone when he's feeling down.
Relationships: Roy Harper & Jason Todd, Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 15
Kudos: 327





	tell me how to live

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I was going to title this fic after I Don’t Dance by Lee Brice (despite DRASTICALLY different vibes) because of the similar thematic elements (and also it was playing while I was writing this), but I decided to use How To Live by keepitinside instead. Because I’m incredibly indecisive other options included Anchor by Bastille, Like Real People Do by Hozier, and Grow As We Go but Ben Platt—all rejected for different reasons.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.

Jason’s long since past the insanity of actually enjoying a kill. He can relish the hunt, and feel satisfaction in the righteousness of his actions, but killing itself is a somber thing he’s come to treat with respect. It is not pleasing, or something to take joy in, just something that has to be done.

This one was a squealer. Jason hates squealers. Human trafficker takes one measly bullet to the kneecap and suddenly it’s all ‘I’ll give you whatever you want.’ and ‘Is this about money? I can get you money.’ as if Jason needed money to hunt down despicable bastards like him—and even if Jason were a hitman, he would sure as hell be one with a modicum of professional pride. Flip on an employer once, and your reputation never recovers.

Needless to say, Jason is not in the best mood returning home. He took a few hits that are already blossoming into a colorful reminder of the unpleasant business, and he’s near bone tired. At least he stopped to get some grub when he got back in the state, so he’s not hungry anymore, though he almost added one more to his body count when the cashier went so white she fainted at the sight of him. One would think he’d learn to wash the blood off _before_ entering public venues, but he always forgets.

After the cashier freaked, he had to book it the rest of the way to avoid an unpleasant altercation with the cops, so he’s still covered in blood, actually.

There is one good thing about all of this though, and the thought of it—or rather of _him_ —makes Jason stand a little straighter as he disarms the apartment’s security system.

They haven’t really been together that long—their one month anniversary is four days away—so this week long excursion is the longest they’ve been apart since the first fateful night they kissed. Everything between them is still new and charged as they try to find the ways their lives slot together.

Jason had honestly assumed that’d be the easy part. As two people who could be remarkably stubborn assholes, he’d naively assumed that the first hurdle of admitting how they felt about each other would be the most difficult, but things haven’t been quite that simple.

They already know how to be partners and friends of course, but, as it turns out, what they are now is more different from that than Jason thought. Just sharing a singular apartment together had been a logistical clusterfuck, let alone the more complicated stuff. Like dates. Neither of them are too keen on ‘em, but… isn’t that what couples _do?_ Fancy dinners, and cheesy movies?

It’s difficult to have dinner when neither of you is entirely comfortable with your back to the exit, and, depending on the crowd, there’s a very real chance one of you is recognized and possibly arrested. As for the movie, well, bats have a _thing_ about theaters.

And then there’s the fact that they haven’t gotten past kissing. Roy says he’s totally okay with it, and Jason believes him, but he’s not… 

Jason doesn’t know how to be soft. He’s not sure how to let someone hold his hand, or even kiss him in an intimate way. Making out? He can do that. Forehead kisses? He flinched so hard Roy _apologized_. They could hardly make eye contact for the rest of the day.

Jason doesn’t want it to be a thing, but it’s going to be a thing.

Wind thoroughly knocked out of his sails, Jason finishes with the security system and finally opens the door.

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls out sarcastically, hoping for a snigger at least.

“Is that my boyfriend? Or has someone finally come to bring me to justice for all those library fines from middle school?” Roy calls from deeper in the apartment, as Jason steps inside and drops his bag with a resounding clank. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” Jason says as he pulls off his helmet and kneels to untie the laces on his boots and tug them free. “The commute was murder, but—” Jason is cut off by an armful of redhead as he stands up.

Roy’s lips are chapped and warm against his, and he’s thrown his arms around Jason’s shoulders. Jason recovers from the initial shock quickly, and tilts his head to get a better angle, as he brings one gloved hand up to the nape of Roy’s neck. After a moment’s hesitation, he slips it up to tug Roy’s ponytail free.

Roy pulls back just far enough to murmur, “You better not lose that, it’s the last of the ones I stole from Kori.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jason says, his voice already hoarse, and leans in for another kiss. It really is a shame he can’t feel Roy’s hair on his skin, but shedding the gloves would take more concentration than he can spare at the moment.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Jason reluctantly pulls back for real, stepping out of Roy’s embrace.

“I need a shower,” he finally says, but if the way Roy’s face falls for just a second is any indication, he shouldn’t have.

Roy covers it quickly though, his smile returning. “You got that right. You smell like it snowed crack in a butcher shop.”

Jason snorts. “Not too far off, to be honest.”

“Go. I’ll take care of your gear.”

“Thanks.” He shoots the archer a grateful smile and starts towards the bathroom.

He’s halfway down the hall when Roy calls, “I missed you.”

Jason pauses, his heart swelling in his chest. He turns around to get a look at Roy, unable to stop the grin that stretches across his face. “I missed you too.”

Something in Roy seems to unwind at that, as if he were holding his breath. God Jason is a horrible boyfriend.

The bathroom door clicks closed behind him, and Jason wastes no time divesting himself of his armor. It’s a time consuming process, and an annoying amount of his gear is covered in dried blood that flakes to the tiled floor like rust colored dandruff. Washing it is going to take ages.

Their apartment is permanently five degrees beneath comfortable, but at least it has pretty reliable hot water. It beats down on his back, relaxing his muscles and stealing his breath. For a moment, he doesn’t move. This is the first time his guard has been down in a week, and he lets that feeling wash over him.

It’s a relief, but a dark one. The tension may be gone from his body, but the blood that managed to soak through to his skin itches with a pervasiveness that has nothing to do with physical sensation. Retrieving the soap, he tries to get rid of the stains, but no matter how much he scrubs, he can still feel it. Still knows it was there. Will be there again.

Jason is not ashamed of the things he does. He knows he is in the right, and he is making the world a better place, but sometimes after a mission he feels so _dirty_ in a way that goes soul deep. He scrubs and he scrubs, but some things don’t wash away.

His hair, shot through with white. He doesn’t actually know what caused that—was it dying? Or coming back?

The scars, littered across his body and too numerous to keep track of. He’s sure he deserved some of them, and others must have come about on missions just like the last one. A scar for a life. Really, he’s getting the easy end of that deal.

And, of course, the fresh bruises courtesy of the squealer's not completely incompetent guards. There’s a savage satisfaction in their presence on his body, but he also just wants them gone. Doesn’t want to think about the men who left them more than necessary.

Eventually, his frantic washing slows, and then stops. The blood is gone, and the other marks won’t be budging anytime soon, so he shuts off the water and grabs a fresh towel.

When the adrenaline rush of a successful mission wears off, Jason generally starts longing for a bed. To fight the exhaustion that comes after a week of very little sleep, but also to hide in. A quiet place where he can curl up and let his mind roam free over the ever green pastures of his own depravity.

It’s not a great feeling, but there isn’t much he can do to dispel it besides letting it run its course. Activity doesn’t help so much as build the pressure, talking just ends in him snapping at someone in nasty ways, and distraction just plain doesn’t work. He figures feeling melancholy for a few days after a kill is more than fair penance for taking that life, so he’s never tried to fight it before, but now… 

Now there’s the problem of a certain redhead.

If he explained, he supposes Roy would probably get it. At the very least, he knows the archer would listen, but he doesn’t _want_ to explain. Not right now.

What do people in relationships _do_ when they’re not in the mood to actually _be_ in a relationship? Jason might be a very special snowflake, but this can’t be a completely unique experience.

Dry as he’s going to get in the steamy bathroom, Jason wraps the towel around his waist and piles all his gear into his arms. With a fortifying breath, he walks to his room to dump the stuff and pull on a fresh tank and sweats before padding to the living room. He doesn’t know what he’s going to tell Roy, but he knows he has to say something. He may not be boyfriend of the year, but even he gets that retreating to his room without an explanation after being gone for a week would be a grade A dick move.

When he reaches the living room, Roy is sitting on the couch with the TV on some soapy daytime drama and Jason’s guns on the coffee table in front of him. Jason leans in the doorway to just watch as Roy takes apart and cleans his glock in quick, efficient motions while keeping his eyes glued to the television, completely rapt.

He’s… well he’s beautiful.

Strands of his hair that have slipped free of their place tucked behind his ears fall across his face, a sharp contrast to his pale skin. His nose is just the slightest bit crooked from being broken too many times, and there’s a faint scar just by his hairline, usually covered by a hat. He looks smoother here in the confines of their home. More relaxed, and more vulnerable too.

Jason is so lost in studying the man, that he doesn’t even notice when the lips pursed in concentration twist into a smirk. “Gonna just stand there watching like a creepy vampire, or are you actually gonna help me with these?” Roy asks, holding up the reassembled glock.

And maybe it’s his voice, jolting Jason from his reverie, or maybe it’s the real warmth behind his smirk, but Jason makes a decision. He doesn’t want to be alone right now.

In four quick strides, he’s across this room and kneeling in front of Roy. He plucks the gun from the archer’s hands and sets it on the table behind him. Positioned as he is between Roy’s legs it would be easy to brace himself on Roy’s knees, but instead he plants his hands on the couch to either side of the archer, and leans in until there’s less than a foot between them. He has to tilt his head back to look Roy in the eye.

“I am going to go to bed,” he starts, thankful for his steady voice when his heart suddenly feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “And I’d really like you to join me.”

Roy’s been looking at him with something between surprise and confusion since the gun disappeared from his hands, but now his cheeks flush red and his eyes go even wider, but before he can say anything, Jason cuts off that line of thinking with a shake of his head. “Not like that. Not yet.”

Roy seems to relax, and Jason thinks that maybe the archer isn’t quite ready for that either. His hands are still awkwardly hovering in the air, like he doesn’t want to touch Jason but isn’t sure where else to put them. Finally, they come to rest on his knees. The air between them is tight with something, but Jason’s not sure what yet. “Then what…” Roy asks.

“Just—” Jason bites his lip. He doesn’t know how to ask for this, but he knows he has to because, as convenient as it would be, Roy can’t just read his mind. Roy doesn’t know about the years of every touch meaning pain or the excruciating learning curve that led to the design of Jason’s armor. Head to toe coverage, no exposed skin.

There’s more too.

If Jason lets Roy touch him, that will make Roy _special_ , and special means dangerous. Special means someone that it would hurt Jason to lose. Special gives Roy the kind of power over him that Jason hasn’t let anyone have since he came back to life screaming and murderous. This line in the sand feels so much more real than the ones they’ve already crossed. Less of a line, and more of a moat.

“Jaybird?” Roy prompts. His voice is gentle and quiet, like Jason is a person who deserves such things.

Jason’s eyes flutter closed, and he focuses on that feeling of someone _caring_ as he finally says, “Just hold me. _Please._ ”

He hears Roy’s sharp intake of breath, and it isn’t difficult to imagine what he must look like to the archer right now. On his knees, with words of supplication on his lips and desperation in the furrow of his brow.

The wait feels like an eternity—though he knows it to be only a few seconds—but finally, Roy cups Jason’s face. The touch is hesitant, the motion of a man ready to retreat at the first sign of discomfort, but this time, instead of flinching, Jason leans into it. They both let out a relieved breath, and when Jason opens his eyes, Roy is staring at him like he’s something wonderful.

“Okay,” Roy says.

Jason covers Roy’s hand with his own. “Okay.”

He stands up, pulling away from Roy’s hand, but compensating by tangling their fingers together. It’s… it’s easy, actually. Simple. Like maybe fingers weren’t made for triggers at all, but instead to slot together with someone else’s.

It’s Roy who has to tilt his head back now, and from this angle he looks almost like he’s in prayer, eyes fixed on Jason like he can’t believe he’s real. Jason pulls gently on their joined hands, and Roy rises to his feet, unfalteringly trailing behind Jason as he leads him to the bedroom.

Both their hands are rough and callused, strong from years of living by them, but their grip on one another is gentle. Tight enough to be secure, but loose like they’re each afraid of breaking something. Jason wonders if the level of pressure is something he’s always going to have to focus so hard on, or if one day he might be able to do this without any thought at all.

When they reach Jason’s room, he hesitates. He’s not actually sure how their bodies are supposed to fit together in this quiet setting. He knows that he’s done it before—he has to have at some point, he has slept with people before, though he’s never stayed the night—but suddenly all the information he has seems clinical and insufficient, so he turns to Roy. “I’m not sure how… ” he trails off, not knowing how to voice what it is exactly he doesn’t know.

Roy’s gaze hasn't left him since Jason first plucked the gun from his hands, so when Jason looks back at him, their eyes meet. He looks wondrous and maybe a little sad. Like he’s just putting together the meaning behind Jason’s trailed off question, and realizing that when Jason joked about not being hugged enough as a child, he wasn’t exaggerating.

Finally Roy swallows. “Lay down,” he says.

In other circumstances, Jason would have a witty retort and innuendo on deck for a statement like that, but now he just nods, letting go of Roy’s hand to pull back the covers and slip beneath them.

Lying down while Roy’s still standing feels… strange. Vulnerable. And for a moment, he’s reminded of all the people he’s killed while they were sleeping in their bed just like this, but the image dissolves quickly. Roy wouldn’t hurt him. Still, it’s a relief when Roy crawls in after him.

“Roll over,” the redhead murmurs. Jason complies, shifting to his side.

An arm snakes around his waist and a second later, a body is pressed against his. Roy fits himself along Jason’s back, tangling their legs together and pressing his forehead to the nape of Jason’s neck.

“Is this okay?” he asks, breath ghosting along Jason’s skin. It makes him shiver.

There was a small part of him that worried that once they reached this point, he might feel uncomfortable or trapped, but he doesn’t. He feels warm and… safe. He feels safe.

He covers the hand resting lightly over his stomach with his own, and pulls it up over his heart. He knows Roy must feel how hard it’s beating, but he wills the other man to notice how it’s steadying now as he says, “Yeah.”

Roy lets out a slow measured breath, and goes still. He doesn’t say anything else, but he’s there, a presence at Jason’s back and an anchor point to his thoughts, because as soon as the adrenaline rush of their strange new situation wears off, Jason’s mind turns to the reason he wanted Roy here in the first place.

He wonders sometimes what his life might have been like if he were born someone else. If Gotham hadn’t stained him from the beginning, and Batman remained a far off myth. It’s impossible to say of course, but surely things would have been different. He wouldn’t have died—or at least, not as the object of Joker’s special attention—and he definitely wouldn’t have come back. He also probably wouldn’t know what it’s like to kill.

He tries to remember that the world would be a more dangerous place without Jason out there doing the things he does, but on nights like these, the frank longing for that life hits him harder than he can ignore. It steals away the protective anger he wraps so tightly around himself, and the humor too, leaving behind a dull ache in his chest.

The feeling washes over him now, making itself at home alongside the weariness that’s coming back in full force, but it doesn’t feel quite as all consuming with Roy wrapped around him. Like putting ice on a throbbing wound, Roy’s presence dulls the sorrow, though Jason can’t say for sure if it’s the physical contact, or just the knowledge that if he’d really had that other life, he also probably never would have met Roy.

He pulls Roy’s hand even closer to his chest, and whispers, “I love you.”

Roy’s arm tightens around him in response. “I love you too,” he murmurs, and from the sound of it Jason’s pulled him from the edge of sleep.

He’s got the right idea, Jason thinks, and in minutes, the world and any aching in his chest has faded to nothingness.

**Author's Note:**

> They're s o f t your honor. Tumblr @violet-witch-6


End file.
